


Sherlock's Little Blog

by Hobbitrocious



Series: Sherlock's Little Blog [1]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: ABDL, Age Play, Blog entries, Daddy John, Diapers, Farting, Fluff, Humour, IDK why but Sherlock is a gassy baby, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, Incontinence, Infantilism, M/M, Modern Era, Photo Shaming, Regression, Sherlock is a bit of a brat as expected, Sherlock's blog, first person POV, life at 221B, mischief and mayhem, post series 3, potty talk, toilet accident
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-12-24
Updated: 2017-07-24
Packaged: 2018-05-08 23:50:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 20
Words: 9,141
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5517716
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hobbitrocious/pseuds/Hobbitrocious
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock starts a second blog. This one's for his ABDL (Infantilism, or regressive roleplay) related writing.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. 01 December 2015

**Author's Note:**

  * For [sadistically_sweet](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sadistically_sweet/gifts).



> Years back, when I was writing strictly Victorian and Ritchieverse SH fic, a couple of LiveJournal commenters remarked how strongly my characterisation came through as Jude Law's Watson and Cumberbatch's Sherlock... which I took as failure and abandoned those particular fics.
> 
> Having recently seen some BBC-verse episodes and now understanding more or less how the writing could come across that way, and now having the fandom knowledge to do so, I figured it was time to try *intentionally* writing 'Sherlock' fic and see what came of it. 
> 
> Feedback would be awesome, as this is only my first BBC-verse writing. Please don't be afraid to tell me honestly if I suck at it! If my energy would be better spent on other forms of writing, I want to know. Thankies!
> 
> Also, in case folks missed it in the comments section of Patching Up the Loom, I've been without internet for some months now... and am preparing to move house... plus, other real-life junk has been hogging my time, etc... so updates on my stories will be super slow for the foreseeable future. Sorry. But rest assured that none of my stories are abandoned.

Daddy made me throw out an entire Petri dish today because it moulded. I admit I wasn't intending for that particular one to mould. Daddy also wasn't happy to find out I haven't eaten since early yesterday morning, so we're getting takeaway tomorrow, probably Chinese, since Daddy says I put up the least fuss with takeaway food when I'm big and we haven't got any baby food in at the moment. Getting me into Little headspace at mealtime is John's 'secret weapon', but he can't use it if there's no food around. Hence my refusal to do the shopping for him during weeks like this.

I did get good-boy points for remembering to drink something today; I went nearly three days without water back in June, and it was not a fun experience. I don't think Daddy's entirely convinced that wasn't on purpose, but I honestly did just forget to drink anything since I wasn't eating anyway.

Now that it's gotten cold out, Daddy hasn't been too keen on walks through the park. I want to go, though. We haven't been since a few months ago, what with cases and all. That last time, we went when it wasn't very busy and got to see a number of animals, including a couple of toads. The first one was very tiny, and the second was full grown. After some persuading, Daddy agreed I was a good boy for not killing the bigger toad while I was poking at it with sticks. Daddy says I scared the toad a lot and shouldn't really poke at them at all, but I was careful not to harm it. We visited the swingset too, which is normally my favourite, but recently I can't swing as high as I used to because I get a touch of vertigo. Daddy says it's because I don't sleep enough or finish my vegetables. Daddy also pointed out that hanging upside down from the swing for a long time doesn't help either.

I was bored enough today that I cleaned the cooktop and hoovered a bit, but Mrs. H says she can't tell the difference from when the stove was dirty. There is still a fair amount of caked-on char, but that's not my fault; Daddy says I'm not allowed to use the grown-up cleaning solutions, even when I'm big. You can probably guess why. (I did promise to be careful next time, but Daddy wasn't having it.)

Molly texted a few days ago that she wants to have a phone chat sometime, so I responded to her today. I really haven't been in the mood, I suppose, so I let her know that I'd let her know.

Mummy - the biological one, and so far only one - has also been trying to shoehorn in the latest family gossip when she's able to get me on the phone (don't ask me why I bother picking up), but it's about Mycroft and the last thing I need to hear is more about his work. He's got some long-term travel arrangement going on right now, and Mummy's making a fretful mountain out of a peevish molehill, as usual. She still natters on about wanting him to find someone to settle down with, which is utter poppycock considering the obvious.

What else... Daddy says we can't afford to buy me a cot for my bedroom, so I'm considering using my savings to instead get a daybed - those run much cheaper - and then make a fourth panel for it myself. I'd very much like to have a high chair for feeding time as well, but John and I aren't sure we'd be able to hide that from Mrs. Hudson for very long. Even if she didn't accidentally walk in on us while we had it out to use, her penchant for sticking her nose into other people's private space is to be considered. She recently discovered and binned a dead rat that was _purposely_ placed at the back of the pantry, even after I explained. Daddy says that if I want to restart that experiment, I have to do it outdoors. Unfortunately, insect-proofing a container to put outside would restrict airflow, and that'll skew the results. I'm not sure yet whether I want to bother doing it.

If Mrs. H does discover the cot and asks questions, the plan is for John to assert that locking me into the bed at night is the only way to ensure I stay asleep. Or something along those lines, we're still arguing over what exactly to tell her. Daddy doesn't want Mrs. H to think we're into BDSM, never mind that I already know John secretly is.

Mary still keeps in touch, so John tells me. It sounds as though she's happy enough with her new life. I can't elaborate any more than that, but there it is.

Cases, and I mean the good ones, the worthwhile ones, upticked during the summer, but the oncoming winter chill seems to have driven the more serious would-be offenders indoors, so to speak. The past few weeks have been quiet. Daddy has been trying to accommodate for more Little time now that there's a lull, except it's still cold and flu season, so he's been a bit busy. At the very least, we have downtime to look forward to around Christmas and New Year's. I doubt John's going to any parties. I've already firmly told Mummy I'm not coming home this year, but I expect I'll have to remind her a few more times.

Some of the neighbours set up their holiday decorations as early as end of October. Even John agreed seeing houses lit up that soon was disgusting.

Looks like it's time for bed now, so I'll wrap this up. Daddy wouldn't let me have even one coffee today, and now my bedtime's around eight o'clock until Daddy says otherwise. (He just chipped in that it's going to last until I don't need to sleep for twelve hours at a time to catch up. Fair enough, I suppose. Being useless for that long is annoying.)

In future, I'm going to try to write at least some of my baby journal entries while in Little headspace. I'm not sure how well that will work out; I guess we'll see.

Off to brush my teeth, etcetera, now. Would be nice if we at least had coffee-flavoured toothpaste.

Daddy says if it existed, he wouldn't let me have anything but decaf. Har, har.

I told Daddy that if one of the decaf options was toothpaste that tasted like wonton soup and tempura chicken, we wouldn't need to spend so much on takeaway food.

... Daddy chose to give the witty rejoinder a pass and reiterate that it's time for bed.

And so it is. Goodnight.

(And, while Daddy's not reading over my shoulder: I am SO having a coffee in the morning. So there.)


	2. 20 December 2015

I did manage to wake up before John on the second of the month and slip in a cup of coffee before he was anywhere near the kitchen. I've sort of become re-addicted to coffee in the past few weeks, which Daddy's not happy about. He complains about it quite a lot, in fact. The effects of that level of caffeine aren't predictable; some nights I'll lie awake until dawn, other nights I'll fall asleep by ten but wake up at two a.m. and remain awake. 

Ordinarily I would use the additional awake time to get things done, but Daddy insists I have to stay in bed during the night. If I don't, Daddy says he's going to ask Mycroft for an alarm system that alerts Daddy's phone if I go further than the bathroom between the hours of eight and six.

I deserve at least one addiction, though. It's been so long since John let me smoke that last week I had a dream that I was having a cigarette. I could almost taste it when I woke up.

Daddy took work this weekend in exchange for the rest of the week off after Monday, so we aren't exactly able to have a Little weekend. Daddy's promised we'll start first thing on Tuesday because, he says, I worried him with how clingy I was last night. I did fuss a bit after he came home yesterday. 

Molly never called. I suppose, being Molly, she expected me to take the initiative and call her, never-mind she was the one who wanted to talk and informed me what days she was free for a conversation. I made sure my mobile was within reach on those days, but nothing came through from her. One would think it prudent to at least try, especially if you've told someone to expect your call.

On an equally happy note, neither Mycroft nor Mummy has called recently. Last I heard, Mycroft agreed to visit our parents for Christmas. Ergo, I am most definitely not doing the same.

Maybe part of why I was fussy last night was because the spiders have started to find their way indoors again. John and I went all summer and autumn without seeing a single one indoors, but then yesterday I saw an enormous one in the front hall and found another inside our flat. I'm not fond of arachnids. Having to dispose of the second one on my own may have been what tipped my mental balance into being Little and agitated for the rest of the evening. Normally, Daddy takes care of the spiders or other crawlies, unless they're work-related. 

Part of the reason for that would also be the cleaning solution incidents I referred to last time. I prefer to hit insectoid trespassers with something long-range, and the pH of the shower cleaner is especially effective for blinding spiders. The foaming cleaner works the best, since the foam completely traps the bugs and makes movement more obvious for visual tracking. 

The downside to the shower cleaner is that it tends to strip the colour out of thing like wood, varnish, wallpaper, and carpet, especially when mixed with other household chemicals. Mrs. H and John both assert that 'colour-stripped' isn't the same thing as 'clean'.

Tomorrow I'll probably take a walk in the morning, a sort of routine check-in with a few of my contacts, and then have a Busytown marathon so I stay out of trouble until John gets home. (The 1990s episodes, obviously; the remade series is absurdly dumbed down. Awful.)

I've two entire DVD sets of Busytown. I also enjoy the books because of the detail and 'how things work' elements in the illustrations. It's like reading two books at once. 

Speaking of videos, Lestrade is getting my parents' old VCR for Christmas so his family videocassettes won't be obsolete. My father keeps all his electronics in perfect condition, so the VCR still works like new. I don't use it anyway, and I've had it for nigh on eight years.

John said it's a cheap gift, (as if that's supposed to make me feel bad about it,) but if someone's going to bother with gifts it stands to reason they should be useful. Besides, Gormund was the one who specifically said he could use a VCR. He'll be getting exactly what he wants, and I'll have more space in my bookshelves with it gone.

I think Daddy's going to give me a long bath tonight. 

I cooked for myself yesterday. Daddy was proud of me, especially since I voluntarily ate vegetables, but he soon realised the catch-twenty-two was that my perspiration now smells strongly of sulphur, courtesy a hearty amount of cabbage and onion. I bet Daddy's going to add extra salts to the bath to absorb the odour. 

I don't mind it much, after all it's my smell, but Daddy pulls a face when I get too close. I've had some fun with that. I farted in his lap during a cuddle and told him he'd been blessed by the Christmas Cabbage Faerie. 

Christmas Cabbage Faeries don't like being shoved out of people's laps; it's a bit painful depending on the drop to the floor. That's my excuse for not bothering with a gift for John this year. At least, not a gift for under the tree. Gifts from my nappies are another story. I'm going to be quite generous with those for the next couple days.

I finished the leftovers this morning, so I should cease to be a Christmas Cabbage Faerie by Wednesday. Human digestion averages seventy-two hours from start to finish.

Reminder to self: we're out of bubble bath. Need to remind John to pick some up. Should perhaps emphasise that it could help remove the last of the turmeric stains from the bathtub.

Castor oil and turmeric mixed together do severely stain the tub, but not permanently. The colour stays in the oil, which can be cleaned off just like cooking grease from a pot: with much effort. Hopefully, filling the tub tonight will wash a bit more of it away. Daddy says it's a good thing Mrs. H didn't see the worst of it, but I doubt she would have cared too much; she's been drinking an awful lot of her hip-soothing teas lately, and I think they affect more than just her hip.

I'm tired of being grown-up right now, so I'm going to end this entry and go play in my room until Daddy comes home.

Readers, consider yourselves blessed by the Christmas Cabbage Faerie. And remember, don't spurn the blessing of the CCF or you'll be short one gift on Boxing Day. Daddies may thusly consider themselves retroactively warned.


	3. 21 December 2015

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John's Two Cents

* * *

Except I did. (Okay, so I forgot the stupid milk.)

There was Gruyere too, but I eated it. >:3

Daddy thinks photo shaming is funny for some reason, but ultimately it's ineffective.


	4. 24 December 2015 (technically, because it *is* after midnight.)

**Sherlock's Little Lessons**

1\. Multiple servings of Hobnobs are not a good meal substitute, especially not when eaten in the space of only one hour.  
(Daddy said I should write that one down before I mentally delete it... again.)

2\. Cold sausage straight from the fridge eaten right before multiple servings of fibre-rich Hobnobs makes/traps way too much gas and I get a really, really bad tummy ache for the rest of the day.

3\. If Daddy's given me vitamins in the morning, I can't wee in the tub without getting caught. The B vitamins make my wee bright yellow, and Daddy notices.

4\. If I can't walk through the kitchen without sneezing, it probably means one of my experiments moulded over.

4b. It's a lot of fun to leave mouldy experiments about when Mycroft visits, because his mould allergy is much worse than mine.

5\. Hiding mistletoe in my nappy is pointless because it didn't get me any extra kisses. It was just itchy, and Daddy made a yucked-out face when he found it.

Daddy just added that I shouldn't pinch his laptop in the middle of the night to type, but I told him I needed a distraction from my tummy ache... Daddy says if I give myself another tummy ache this way, he's going to keep the biscuits locked away from me, even when I'm big! D:

 

Edit:  
So the above is what a partially regressed blog entry looks like. I'm not sure it has much merit, but I'll post it anyway and see what sort of reaction it garners.

In other news, Mrs. Hudson encountered one of my footed sleepers in the wash by mistake, and now she won't shut up about it. She's threatened to cut off the heating to our flat just to see me wear it. 

I'm sure she doesn't know how to do that, but, if by some stroke of crappy Christmas luck she does manage it... well, I've spent days at a time naked in a basement in Serbia in the winter. A chilly flat is nothing, especially when it's my pride at stake. Sherlock Holmes in fuzzy footie pyjamas is a sight reserved for John and John alone.

My bare butt, et al., on the other hand, Mrs. H has already walked in on.

Daddy says that's cruel and indecent and I shouldn't do it.

I say it's time to bring on the revenge of the Christmas Cabbage Faerie. 

(Well, it's now the sausage and biscuits faerie, but you get the idea. The sausage component of the scent of my rear emissions is sufficiently rancid to make this more than effective.)

Another edit:  
Daddy counter-attacked by smearing my bum with the perfumed lotion that smells like baby powder and sunscreen. He used a lot of it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's super effective! *bada-tish*


	5. 01 January 2016

My mobile calendar says 2016. The texts I've received today say 2016. 

Yet, all of today's Sent texts are marked 2010.

I sent a mass text complaining about it and discovered Lestrade is nauseatingly fond of _Back to the Future_ jokes. It's funny how mass texting to a group of drunk and/or hung-over individuals can bring light to the darkest recesses of their senses of humour. Some things were meant to remain hidden.

On the upside, having Little-me to care for, John didn't get as astoundingly drunk as last year and didn't send New Year's Eve nudes to anyone's phone.

On the downside, John didn't send New Year's Eve nudes to ANYONE'S phone. 

My New Year's resolution is to get a nude photo of Daddy on my phone.

 

P.S.  
John, I did see that smug smirk when you caught me looking a bit green as we passed the Hobnobs at the shop yesterday. I'm very observant, remember. I'll change your laptop password back after I get an apology.

* * *

Later, same day...

I got a time-out in the corner instead of an apology, because, Daddy says, (and I disagree,) I have no right to raise a stink over Daddy's reaction to my reaction to the biscuits after what happened last Thursday.

The password I changed to wasn't even that difficult. It was Supercalifragilisticexpialidocious. Seriously; piece of cake as long as one spells it correctly. 

If Daddy's reading this, I've guessed the new password already. It's "nextisaspanking".

Not fair, by the way.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for not replying to comments yet. Still strapped for time! Thanks to everyone reading/reviewing!


	6. 24 January 2016

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: It was unplanned for, but there's potty talk in this chapter. It came as a surprise to everyone involved. Tags have been added.
> 
> Also, my writing computer died last week, so updates and replies to comments are still going to be slower than a drunk snail.

Toilet stupid.

* * *

Translation, courtesy of John:

_What Sherlock means to say is he had a very exciting day today. A bit too exciting, maybe!_

_We just wrapped up a three-day case tonight, and were treating ourselves to a spot of cheese and white wine before bed... Well, as I just found out an hour ago, Sherlock had those on a totally empty stomach, just as he had three days of teas and coffees on an empty stomach. So after his first glass of wine (basically a muscle relaxant on top of three days straight of nothing but diuretics), no sooner had he swallowed his second piece of cheese, his tummy went a bit grumbly. Before either of us knew it, his bum was wet and I had a rather pungent mess to clean up. In his pants, too. That was my fault; I didn't think to put him into a nappy when we got home._

_It wasn't much of a mess, but that's sort of the problem. Sherlock's still starving himself on cases, and, as I'm going to leave here as a reminder for him, THIS PATTERN OF BEHAVIOUR IS EXACTLY THE REASON WHY HE HAD AN ACCIDENT TONIGHT._

_He's just had a shower and I'll be putting him to bed as soon as his hair's dry. The clean up really put him into his headspace, so he's being a cute, tired little grump at the moment. He is also being a good boy and eating the salad, crisps, crackers, and ginger tea I set up for him... Hopefully those will, you know, firm things up again._

_The little one is using his disposable training pants tonight, and we're going to reinstate his potty training schedule starting right now. That will last for at least a few days. He's not happy about it, but he knows his Daddy needs to go to work, and I can't change his nappies over the phone._

_Sherlock is also a little upset because he already had his next blog entry planned, and it wasn't supposed to be about this. Apparently I'm not supposed to give any spoilers, either, so I won't. I just had that made very clear to me by a sock to the arm. And I mean a literal sock with the foot still in it, because someone couldn't be bothered to put his tea and crackers down._

_Sherlock is_ definitely _ready for bed. The crankiness factor is nearly 8 out of 10 now. It's really highly inappropriate, (but then what isn't with you-know-who,) but our little joke is that the last time Sherlock's crankiness factor reached 10/10, a newspaper mogul died, ergo a crankiness of 10 is fatal and we want to avoid that at all costs._

_The little prince is doing his grabby hands thing, so I'll let him wrap this up..._

* * *

Toilet still stupid!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

* * *

_And there you have it._

* * *

The End.

* * *

_Right, I forgot... Because Baby always has to have the last word._

_And okay, Sherlock pointed out that Daddy lied (read: understated). Sherlock's tummy didn't get "a bit grumbly," it got "very grumbly". It_ was _pretty loud. My poor little baby's going to get a tummy rub too tonight._

* * *

The Real Very End.


	7. 25 January 2016

I meant to type up this entry earlier, but work kept getting in the way - mine _and_ John's. My laptop died last week, and John's been stingy about sharing his. Last night, he insisted he needed it so he could look up something he hadn't gotten around to searching for at work. I'm getting a new computer soon, but not soon enough.

What I meant to write about was a trip I was forced to take earlier in the month to attend a horridly boring dinner held in my honour, arranged by some shut-in dolt who by day lurks in the basement of St. Bart's and who thinks that I don't know he's part of Anderson's silly hat club. 

God knows why, but whatshisface managed to book the dinner at a musty old estate out in the middle of nowhere, which forced more than half the attendees to stay overnight in nearby hotels because the drive out there was so ridiculously long.

The event being officially sponsored by Bart's, they sent along a representative who, via some string pulling on John and Stamford's part, ended up being Molly Hooper.

John, unfortunately, refused to take off work to come to the dinner. Which was just as well, because there was a small flub in the hotel reservations that meant all three of us would have been made to cram ourselves into the same bed.

So that's how I wound up spending two nights sharing a hotel bed with Molly.

That's also apparently why John felt the need to divulge to Molly that he'd discovered the secret of enjoyably occupying the same personal space with me, and was ever so happy to share. I'm slowly forgiving him for that; not quite all the way there yet.

So that's how I wound up spending three days and two nights getting used to Molly knowingly acting Mummy-like and treating me Little when we weren't around other people. 

She says she enjoys it, and I'm actually becoming used to it myself. I still spend more time at home with Daddy, but now I also have a Mummy who texts me and calls me sometimes when she knows John's busy, because it's often easier for Mummy to text from work than it is for Daddy.

I'm not sure Mummy will enjoy being my Mummy for very long. It might depend on how much face time I spend with her while I'm regressed. So far, Daddy's seen a lot more of my misbehaviour than Mummy has, so I doubt she's aware of the full scope of it. Granted, Mummy's also more permissive than Daddy, so the definition of bad behaviour is slightly altered. The worst I did during our stay at the hotel was jump on the bed and stay up late. (Unless I did something worse than that and then Deleted it once I felt grown-up again. That happens sometimes.)

... I just asked Daddy about that. He said Mummy also reported I didn't want to wear my clothes in the hotel room at first, but then the temperature dropped drastically the second day we were there and I let her keep me dressed after that. 

I know I definitely needed clothes on at night to keep warm because Mummy steals the blankets in her sleep. She's like a power spool, gradually winding up the covers, whereas Daddy's more like a pillowy log the whole night. We did get me an extra blanket from the front desk the last night we were there, though.

We also had a kitchenette in the room, so I didn't have to go downstairs for tea in the mornings. That was nice.

The dinner function at the estate was droll, as expected. I honestly don't understand why I had to be there. They could have carried on just as well without me. It's not as if the mere fact of my presence imbued each lifting of their forks or stirring of their soup with some special meaning it wouldn't have had otherwise.

Even though there was something of a speech attempted, it was easy to tell the overperspirating orator had been hard-pressed to find enough flattering things to say about me to fill the entire four and a half minutes. Good thing he had his cuecards with him, or the speech might have stretched past the five minute mark on account of all the 'hms' and 'ums'.

Anyway, back to the main points. I'm learning things about Molly I hadn't bothered to notice before, and she's now one of a very select few (two, to be exact) who get to see me when I'm not in a position to be as observant or 'noticing' as I normally am.

It was a trifle awkward at first to let myself fall into my Little mindset around Molly, just as it was at first with John, but I think she and I are both more comfortable with it now. The turning point for both of us might have been when she caught a cold on our final morning at the hotel.

She woke with a headache that morning and told me it was especially throbbing near one of her eyes, so I did what Little-me felt was the natural thing to do, which was to wave my hands around the bed to chase away the ouchies so the ouchies would leave Mummy's head and eyeballs alone. Then Mummy said her cold wasn't that bad, that it was probably just an idiot allergy. So I checked under the bed, since that was the only dark place for an idiot to fit if they wanted to hide in our hotel room, but the mattress was on a solid-bottomed frame with no underneath space. As I told Mummy, there were no Anderson bunnies (the assumed derivative of dust bunnies) beneath the bed.

She smiled and then, since I hadn't slept much, she wrapped me up in my blanket for a kip and called me a caterpillar.

Speaking of caterpillars, Mycroft told me a few days prior that they dissolve into goo in the pupa stage before they reform as moths or butterflies, and only their brains and memories carry over from their caterpillar body. Everything else goes gooshy. That was interesting to ponder while falling back asleep in the blankie cocoon.

In the initial discussion with Mycroft, the question arose of whether insects are motivated to revenge. If so, anyone who frightened or injured a caterpillar would later be at risk of being attacked by the moth or butterfly it turned into, because the moth or butterfly would remember the incident suffered as a caterpillar.

Not that a butterfly can do much damage, aside from maybe deliberately flying into someone's eye. Or, in theory, by leading a larger animal to a spot where it could wreak some havoc - like landing on a person's food at a picnic while being tracked by a cat or dog, and subsequently causing the cat or dog to jump onto the food.

At least a moth is inclined to and equipped for irritating destruction as a natural part of its lifestyle, the consuming of fabric.

Going with the line of consumption and food, Mummy Molly explained to me recently that crisps don't count as vegetables because the way they're cooked gives them more bad nutrition than good nutrition, and that's why people say they have 'no' nutrition even though the Nutrition labels have positive integers on them. Mummy also got me to try brussel sprouts. Those are surprisingly good, both raw and steamed. They taste like baby cabbages, but they don't have anywhere near the same faerie power as big cabbage, which is disappointing. It makes calling myself the Brussel Sprout Faerie very anticlimactic. Of course, Daddy's happy with that. He would be.

And, speaking of Daddy, I've got to go because he's calling my mobile to make sure I stick to the potty training schedule. I already let it go to voicemail once, which I probably shouldn't have done.


	8. 01 March 2016

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John's Four Cents

* * *

Not my fault! Daddy wasn't home when he said he'd be, and my cot needed to be ready for bedtime!

... Daddy's in a Mood tonight, so I can't stay up to type. I'll have to report on the cot's durability later, after I've slept in it. The window obviously failed its durability test. Daddy says it's probably going to get added on to our next rent payment.

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In case anyone was wondering: yes, le auteur really did break a window putting a bed frame together. Not enough floor space to work with, and a coat tree ended up tipping into the window. Twice. It was the second hit that did it.
> 
> My internet is still limited and no new writing PC yet, so other stories are still on hold. I'll try to keep updating this fic in the meantime. It's easy enough since I keep the chapters so short. But the other stories with the longer chapters are going to have to wait until I can use a keyboard that has all its keys.
> 
> Thanks to everyone for having patience with me and sticking around!
> 
> P.S.  
> If you want to see the cot the windowpane was sacrificed for...  
> http://babywolverine.deviantart.com/art/Improvised-AB-Crib-View-1-of-4-594145179  
> http://babywolverine.deviantart.com/art/Improvised-AB-Crib-View-2-of-4-594149046  
> http://babywolverine.deviantart.com/art/Improvised-AB-Crib-View-3-of-4-594149250  
> http://babywolverine.deviantart.com/art/Improvised-AB-Crib-View-4-of-4-594149463


	9. 20 March 2016

I haven't really been good the past few weeks, so, everyone, enjoy reading of my springtime misbehaviour, including but not limited to:

\- Giving Daddy a rough time with potty training (... As if he wasn't expecting it by now.)

\- I tried to get off the toilet before I was done and Daddy had to hold me down 

\- Secretly weeing in the tub as revenge, which Daddy doesn't know about... or won't until he reads this. I still don't see why doing it in the tub is any different other than the one drains constantly and the other needs the handle pulled. Daddy can be so fussy sometimes.

\- I made a habit of watching videos of ghost stories before bed, which was not a good idea to do consistently because I wound up regressing while watching some of them and then needed the night light on. Still couldn't fall asleep, messed up my sleep schedule, and was nocturnal for about a week and a half.

\- Got a cut on my right knee and minor chemical burn on three fingers of my right hand, and refused to tell Daddy what chemical I used. He was able to guess correctly, though.

\- Flooded the toilet (this time not on purpose), and didn't tell Daddy. I was waiting for the water level to go down before trying to fix it, and in the meantime Daddy flushed it thinking it was safe and he flooded it too, but worse. So it was technically Daddy who got toilet water all over the floor. Not my fault.

\- I bit Daddy on the shoulder because he said we couldn't buy cabbage. The Cabbage Faerie is in withdrawal; fairie power currently nil, thus fart-related pranks are at an annual low. But there is broccoli in the refrigerator, so that's looking a bit promising.

\- I accidentally kneed Daddy in the crotch while having a nightmare about Moriarty. Not too hard, but Daddy still made a point to complain about it after I woke up. John forewarned me that next time he catches me having a nightmare, he's going to swaddle me right away for his own safety.

\- and, second to last but not least, my New Year's Resolution has been fulfilled. I will officially be in hiding until John's wrath subsides.

\- Lastly, in the course of ensuring Mycroft wouldn't be persuaded to hack the image file in case John asked, I may have flung some insults which Daddy overheard. Included use of the word 'penises' quite loudly. I'm sure the looks on both our faces were amusing for whomever was monitoring the camera feeds that day. I love my Daddy because he is above such crude punishments as washing my mouth with soap. Though the five-day ban on telly isn't great either.

 

One good thing is the cot is holding up very well. The shattered window was worth it, no matter what John says. Unfortunately, I won't be sleeping in it tonight. I estimate it won't be safe to leave my hiding spot until mid-morning tomorrow.

Lestrade or anyone thinking they can hack a copy of you-know-what, you're only getting a censored version. The uncensored original is backed up somewhere your best computer forensics tech would never reach it if they had all of the next century to try. You're welcome. Remember: what is seen cannot be unseen. I'm doing you a distinct favour. Can't have you weeping with envy next time John accompanies me to a crime scene, now, can we.

 

I'm not sure how this entry managed to wind up so full of penis and potty talk. It just... sort of happened. I must live a far more phallic existence than I previously realised.

Disclaimer: John, if you're asking yourself whether I wrote this while high, I assure you I did not take nearly enough to achieve a satisfactory high. Bastard Gibson and his minions did away with the bulk of what I would have needed.

On second thought, maybe I should stay in hiding an extra day or two.

Le sigh. Being naughty can be complicated.

* * *

Edit: Oh, and I forgot to mention the exploding potato. There, I mentioned it. I need to go sleep "something" off now. But not in my cot. I miss my cot.


	10. 23 March 2016

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Posting this one early because I feel guilty for such short chapters. Xb

I left the hiding place I mentioned previously at a later time than I intended to, due to the necessity of a long nap, and John spotted me on the street on his way home from work. Despite neither of us being impaired as far as walking went, he forced me to get into a cab for the end of the trip back to Baker Street. 

Still somewhat under the sway of the substance that I took but will not reveal here, in the cab I regaled Daddy with a mostly hummed rendition of Eleanor Rigby, which, when I sing it, begins with the line, "ah, look at all the stupid people." I prefer the lyrics to be relevant.

Daddy shut me in my room as soon as we got back so he could make multiple phone calls without me listening in. 

I'm sure he placed at least two calls, one to Mycroft and one to Molly. The first is a given, and the second was likely in order to set up babysitting for Tuesday while Daddy was at work.

Daddy and Mummy Molly must have discussed more than simply babysitting, though, because they were on the phone for a long time. And, when Daddy came back to let me out of my room, he wasn't seething anymore. 

I gather Molly drew some parallel between my usage and what she perceives should be guilt over how much of a brat I've been lately, probably, compounded by lack of attention from John, who's been taking both extra hours at work and more social time. In any case, her hypothesis calmed John considerably and I avoided a spanking.

In fact, Daddy was surprisingly tender with me for the rest of the day, so I can't complain. He didn't even try to make me eat a meal, and let me get away with just crackers and tea.

Basically, the rest of Monday went: immediate cuddles during which Daddy was oddly quiet, equally quiet bath-time with the occasional whispered instruction, straight away being put into a nappy and Little clothes, another long cuddle session on the bed, Daddy answering his phone to confirm babysitting with Molly, following Daddy into the kitchen so he could make his dinner, seeing that there was no dinner for me and peeking inside the lower cupboards for snacks (Daddy seemed very surprised that I wanted to eat at all), being given crackers and tea while Daddy finished his dinner, then diaper change, and then being put down in the cot with a bottle of warm water while Daddy leaned over the rail and watched me drink. And Daddy left the night light on without me having to ask. 

I suppose I have missed this. With Daddy so busy, I'd been trying to stay Big more of the time lately. That doesn't appear to have been the best choice.

Molly gave me some odd looks while she was over, but I was too Little at the time to deduce exactly why. Subjectively, it felt as though she may have been attempting to guilt trip me into feeling remorse for running away with the last of my stash. I'm not sure.

Otherwise, yesterday was enjoyable. I got extra storytime in the middle of the day in addition to bedtime stories, which made up for not having a bedtime story on Monday. And Mummy Molly said she would look into another source for my favourite bubble bath, since the local shop appears to have stopped carrying it.

Molly had to work today, so John's been Daddying me via text between his patients. I don't like having to mind my nappies on my own, but at least Daddy finally realised the training pants were frustrating me because lately I've really been too Little for them.

What else... I have a couple of pram toys attached to the bars of my cot now. There's a baby music box I know I had during my first childhood that I would like to find again to put in the cot too. And perhaps a mobile would be nice. And one of those A-frame toy bars for the floor, that I can lie under... I have a wishlist, and that's just the beginning. What I don't have is enough physical space for everything I want, so Daddy gets to deliberate what wishlist items I'll eventually have.

What I want most right now is for Daddy to come home, though. It's taking too looooooooooong.


	11. 1 April 2016 (and, no, I'm not joining in on the silly trickery traditional to the date.)

John wrote on his blog this morning that I've been "mopey". I'm not moping, I'm bored. My last case was too short and not very stimulating. All I've really got to show for it is a bruised up left calf from chasing someone. Solved it in two hours, arrest and all. The perp was possibly the stupidest one I've ever taken down.

Talk amongst the grown-ups this week has been "poor, depressed Sherlock this" and "have you found any more illicit that". And, during the conversations they think I can't hear, Mycroft's been trying to convince John to allow an all-expenses-paid holiday at home. As far as I can tell, John's haggled Mycroft down to one week instead of two and still hasn't said yes. Mycroft needs to learn to stop asking and just hide the cash somewhere, then tell John, "Oh, by the way, it's in your coat pocket," or, "it was in today's mail and you can't send it back," along with probably, "the call's already been made, the clinic won't be expecting you until next Monday." I can't believe that hasn't occurred to him yet. He stopped asking with me ages ago.

But, then, we both know what he suspects I'd use the money for. So, when it comes to me, Mycroft prefers to just pay specific bills unasked.

Mycroft also visited Sunday morning because of John's call after I came back home the evening before. He used the news as a last-minute excuse not to see our parents for Easter. I don't blame him, but he could have given them that excuse and then _not_ come to the flat. Then everyone would have been happy.

Not that Mycroft's timing is ever good, but it was exceptionally horrendous this last time. Daddy was in the middle of comforting me after a completely unexpected night terror that had to do with the drug-induced hallucinations I saw at Baskerville a few years ago. I've no idea why my mind had to vomit that back at me now, after all this time. Bloody inconvenient.

But, on the upside, it made John all the more eager to kick Mycroft out as quickly as possible and I didn't have to talk to my brother at all. Daddy told me to stay in my room and made sure Mycroft stayed well away.

Mycroft also left sweets that our parents insisted he stop by to pick up. I let John have most of them. Mrs. Hudson brought us Easter leftovers too from wherever she went that day. John insists he told me where, but I wasn't listening. I think she sent some of her homemade Easter cake along with Mycroft too. Like he needs it.

Which reminds me, of all the diabolical things... I haven't gone out most of this past week because I haven't really been able to be in big boy pants. Nearly had a few more 'accidents', especially almost every time I drank coffee. I'm still not eating as regularly as Daddy wants, true, but it got to the point where I suspected John was slipping something into my coffee.

After testing each ingredient separately, I discovered John had dissolved magnesium sulphate in the liquid sweetener I use. Kudos to him for getting that by me for as long as he did, but slipping things into drinks is _my_ gig.

When I confronted him, John justified it by pointing out it's been helping me to sleep at night and alleviates my tension a bit.

Of course, this is Epsomite we're talking about, so he and I are both aware of its notorious effect as a laxative. No wonder it was making me 'go' so quickly.

John wouldn't admit to an ulterior motive of trying to wean me off coffee by way of negative reinforcement, but I'm convinced.

I put extra sweetener in today's coffee and then went to sit in John's armchair to wait for the inevitable, but Daddy caught on to what I was trying to do and made me sit on the toilet until it happened. Only took ten minutes or so, but still... the principal of the thing... not bloody fair.

Daddy came back from the shop this afternoon with crackers so that I won't have the runs for a while. And I used up the last of the spiked agave syrup this morning, so my next coffee shouldn't have any magnesium sulphate in it. Even if John were cunning enough to use a syringe, any tampering will be evident because I haven't pulled the inner foil seal off the new bottle.

Granted, if he were able to get the seal off in one piece, he could glue it back on intact. That's why I've hidden it. I should probably keep it hidden after I open it, but that'll be tedious. I might just leave it in its usual spot in the kitchen after a few cups and see if he's ballsy enough to spike it again.

Some might take that as a challenge, but I predict in John's case he'll feel guilty, now that I've found out, and not want to bother with that trick again. We shall see.

No; on second thought, I'm very sure he won't do it again. Not after how my nappies have been lately.

Nearly bedtime now, so goodnight everyone. And perhaps in the interim between this and my next post, you might interest yourself in perusing my original blog with my work-related essays. It's obscene how many more views/hits this one has. Is no one the least bit curious how to detect the difference between the ash of a Havana cigar and and a corner store cigarillo? Nor whether the suspicious ash in your neighbour's rubbish bin is from a spliff or if they've been innocuously burning white sage?

No?


	12. 21 April 2016

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the long wait between chapters. Real life got really sucky again. 
> 
> Warning for more toilet talk/allusions in this chapter. I really didn't plan it this way, I swear. Xb

Daddy's spending more time with me lately now that he and half of London have it in their heads that I'm a drug risk 'again,' but not everything has gone smoothly.

Let's just say I think Mrs. Hudson needs to use her reading glasses more often.

... Well, no, you know me; I have plenty more to say on the matter. My blog, my ranting space.

Daddy summed up the whole sordid fortnight as 'tummy troubles,' but it was a bit more than that.

In the mornings recently, Daddy's been having coffee (I'm still not allowed to have any) and Mrs. Hudson has mostly stuck to her herbal soothers; so that's left me as the only one drinking tea. Somehow, Mrs. Hudson ran out of actual tea two weeks ago (how does that even happen?) and instead started brewing me tisane from an old box of herbal something-or-other that's sat at the back of her pantry for years and whose purpose for having been bought in the first place was long forgotten - not hard; I think old Hudders _is_ getting just a touch senile.

It was three days before Daddy correctly attributed my tummy troubles to her tea - although I'd suspected a day earlier - and not stomach flu.

Turns out the box of her ill-labelled 'natural herbs' really read in full, in the smaller font, 'natural slimming tea,' which was an uninformative euphemism for 'freakishly strong plant-based laxative'. So for three days it was like a repeat of when John mixed magnesium sulphate into my coffee syrup, only slower-acting and more intense upon effect. No vomiting, but more severe abdominal cramps than I'd ever care to reexperience. It wouldn't be an exaggeration to say Daddy kept me forcibly nappied despite simultaneously keeping me on a potty schedule. Emphasis on forcibly. I can't remember the last time I was in nappies for six days straight. I'd already been nappied for two days before the tea fiasco since John was endeavouring to help me stay Little more of the time.

Though, it was perfect timing, in a way. John finally took that weeklong break from work that Mycroft has been doggedly suggesting. I'm sure John felt justified in not accepting until he did, before we found out the true cause of my sudden illness, so that as chance would have it he was very luckily on hand to nurse me through it.

 _After_ uncovering the source of the issue may be another story. It seems Daddy felt guilty once he realised he'd been bottle-feeding me the very thing that was making me ill.

But that was hardly the end of it. 

Mummy Molly was at least right about one thing, that I've somehow not been handling mental stressors as well as usual. In other words, she and Daddy and Mycroft all consider me to be overstressed. I'm not entirely in agreement with them, but I admit the fact does stand that I had been clenching my teeth rather a lot over the past few months.

I was firmly in my Little headspace when one of my upper back teeth eventually cracked, so I was regrettably not in a frame of mind to be able to voice to John what was wrong. It can be frustrating to have a considerable problem like that occur while Little and to have to deal with Daddy being slow on the uptake. 

We later figured out I first cracked the tooth on a tough, dry, whole seed embedded in some grown-up biscuit Daddy gave me as a substitute teething rusk. It only began hurting once I tried to chew later during lunch... and it was excruciating until a corner of the tooth finally just chipped off completely, in the evening, which relieved the striking pressure. So dinner wasn't as much of a problem. 

Daddy and I have come to an agreement that I'm allowed to skip tea on most days so long as I've had breakfast and lunch, but I hadn't eaten much of lunch that day.

This was just as I was getting over Mrs. Hudson's gut-wrenching tea mixup, so the relief of regaining control over my bowels was a bit short-lived.

And, to add insult to injury, eating a full meal so soon before bedtime landed me with a cruelly and unusually extended bout of the hiccups. Daddy was so focussed keeping an eye on my broken tooth that he neglected to burp me before bed and let me suffer for nearly two hours past bedtime.

Normally Mycroft is the one afflicted with hiccups because he just plain eats too much and cramps his diaphragm. I'm not used to experiencing the same myself, and it was not only annoying but humiliating. I've asked ('demanded,' John says... whatever...) John not let on to Mycroft or I'll lose the upper hand when it comes to mocking him about his.

The upside to all this is that Daddy's decided to take a second consecutive week's holiday to spend with me. He says it's partly to make sure I don't dehydrate or have any more rapid weight loss after what the slimming tea did. 

His quip that if I lost another half a stone he'd be able to carry me around like a real baby wasn't the most convincing reason to stop drinking it, but then... cramps. 

Anyway, I'm feeling much better this week and Daddy has been letting me watch loads of Pingu to pass the time. It appears John has caught on that programmes which don't rely on defined aural language are more effective at putting me into Little space than are other children's shows.

Hopefully recent experience has also taught him for the future that scheduling me for a dentist appointment against my will automatically instigates a game of hide-and-seek that he is incapable of winning until said appointment is cancelled or missed.

The tooth is fine now; there's just less of it. That single tooth is no longer taking the brunt of the force, which it previously was since it was the slightest bit longer than its neighbours, so the pressure is much more evenly distributed now when I do find my jaw clenching.

John just made a rude joke about other things clenching before he retreated to his chair, referencing an instance of spontaneously farting the seventh through twelfth notes of the first bar in Peter's Theme from _Peter & the Wolf_ into my diaper whilst recuperating last week, so I need to log off now to go practise some behaviour modification by way of a hard-bound chemistry text to the back of John's head. 'Accidentally' as I pass by, of course.


	13. 04 October 2016

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John's Sixth Cents

* * *

_Eighteen_ flies, fifteen of which I kept, plus I smooshed the spider that waltzed into the flat tailing the flies. Oh, and then there was one more fruit fly after Daddy took the photo.

They get really fizzy inside droplets of peroxide. >:3

Unless they float. Sometimes surface tension happens.

And I _was_ careful and didn't spill any; the droplet on the tabletop is where one of the flies landed when I scraped it off my hand, so that was intentional.


	14. 05 October 2016

 

The fruit flies were mean and got revenge. I was going to have a sandwich for tea tonight, but late-ish since Daddy froze the bread so it would keep and it had to defrost first. The two slices I took were _supposed to_ defrost during my naptime, and I even took the precaution of covering the plate with the fancy glass serving lid thing, but when I woke up and Daddy was going to help me make my sammich (John thinks it's cute when I pronounce it like that aloud), there were bazillions of new fruit flies inside the lid, crawling all over my bread.

 

Daddy made me open the mess outside and dump the lot. Those stupid flies ruined and stole my sammich bread!

 

Upside is that I got extra cuddles from Daddy because I was crying, and now he's let me stay awake way past bedtime to decongest and post this.

 

Still... that was mine.

 

T_T

 

 

 

 


	15. More from 05 October 2016

Daddy said I should post my last texts to Molly here because I was kind of in Little mode when I sent them and they're amusing.

 

> O.o Second time around with the peroxide, one of the fruit fly cadavers makes a fizzy-popping noise!
> 
> 7:22 pm

 

> I has therefore deduced that Rice Crispies are made of processed fruit flies. o.o
> 
> 7:25 pm
> 
>  

It made sense at the time.


	16. 11 October 2016

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Imperious baby is imperious. What did you expect.

_I_. I am a jealous baby. Thou shalt have no other babies before me.

 

 _II_. Thou shalt not make unto thee an excess of more than one photo shaming nonsense post in the passing of one month.

(Thy most recent violation hast been DELETED, thank you very much.)

 

 _III_. Thou shalt not sternly utter the full name of thy baby except in dire need or warning.

 

 _IV_. Remember to honour promised rewards to keep from bringing the wrath of mine tantrums upon thyself.

 

 _V_. Thou art my Daddy or Mummy. If thou art not, I don't know why the hell you're reading this.

 

 _VI_. Actually, the killing thing was okay.

 

 _VII_. Thou shalt commit bribery whereupon necessary.

 

 _VIII_. Thou shalt not dispose of my experiments nor supplies without consulting my Big side.

 

 _IX_. Thou shalt not bear witness of anything whatsoever to Mycroft.

 

 _X_. Thou shalt not steal the covers nightly.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I completely forgot to link this fic up to its recent companion work, "Extended Scenes from Sherlock's Little Blog". That's done now, so you can find it linked at the bottom here as the next story in the 'series', or listed among my other fics.


	17. 14 December 2016

Still writing. Toy Addendum nearly complete.


	18. 24 December 2016




	19. 29 January 2017

 

 

 

This doesn't necessarily mean I forgot to get John a proper anniversary card.


	20. Important Author's Note

Sorry, everyone; I was going to put up another photo-based chapter today but saw that Photobucket made a change to their hosting parameters. Since I have a free account, my images are now blocked from outside linking. I'm going to be looking into hosting alternatives soon, possibly something like Pixlr or ImageShack. If anyone has tips on which of these is better when it comes to outside linking, or has another free hosting site to recommend, your input is appreciated!

So, this fic is kind of on hold until I get the hosting issue fixed and all the previous links replaced. Once the photo problem is taken care of, I will be replacing this note with a real chapter.

In the meantime, I will upload what was going to be today's corresponding chapter in this story's sister fic, "Extended Scenes from Sherlock's Little Blog" (posted as Part 2 of this series), so you all have some new Little Sherlock to read despite the technical difficulties here.

 

 

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Extended Scenes from Sherlock's Little Blog](https://archiveofourown.org/works/7102057) by [Hobbitrocious](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hobbitrocious/pseuds/Hobbitrocious)




End file.
